


King of the Clouds

by Elie



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Hank is not having Dick sacrificing himself, Hurt/Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts, They talk, as usual theres barely any romance, dick and hank are like brothers, me writing hurt!dick because Titans wont give us it, or at least they havent yet, there is hand-holding, titans s2ep5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 04:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20942060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elie/pseuds/Elie
Summary: add-on for the end of Titans s2ep5 because i didn't think there was enough hurt!dick"Jason’s falling. He’s falling, slipping through Dick’s fingers and flying towards the ground with increasing speed. Dick’s yelling, even though he doesn’t know what exactly. And Jason is screaming, and his face, Jason’s face - he’s terrified.Dick was supposed to save him."





	King of the Clouds

**Author's Note:**

> basically what it says on the tin, with a sprinkle of dick and hanks friendship, thanks to liathgray on tumblr for all the help!

Jason’s falling. He’s falling, slipping through Dick’s fingers and flying towards the ground with increasing speed. Dick’s yelling, even though he doesn’t know what exactly. And Jason is screaming, and his face, Jason’s face - _he’s terrified_.

Dick was supposed to save him.

He feels like he’s not in his body anymore. Frozen in place. Cold all over. 

Jason pummels to the ground.

“Dick-” there’s a hand on his shoulder, dragging him away from the window, from the view of Jason’s desperate face. He doesn’t get to see Jason hit the ground. The world around him has become muffled. It’s like he’s underwater where there are no sounds besides the piercing ringing in his ear. 

There’s an utter agony spreading through his body, and not just from the heartbreak he lived only seconds ago.

He can’t stop seeing Jason’s face. But now, there’s a sandy floor under him, not a concrete ground. The sound of a circus tent moving with the wind is filling his ears. The yells. The screams.

“Dick, come back to me, look at me,” Kory, sounding more frantic than ever, says. Dick opens his eyes, when did he close them? His vision is swimming, both from the pain that makes it feel like there’s fire eating away at his body, and the tears he can’t force away. It hurts to breathe. 

It hurts to live.

Jason is dead.

“You’re bleeding,” Kory states, brows furrowed. Dick looks down, his hand feeling along to find the epicenter of his pain. There’s a bullet wound there, blood oozing out of it. He shouldn’t even be standing, how had he been able to run to Jason? How had been able to hold on to Jason, for that small window of time, before Jason slipped from his hand?

Maybe that’s the reason he couldn’t hold on. He managed to get shot, it drained his strength, and Jason slipped. Jason fell. Jason died.

It’s his fault. Like it always seems to be these days. 

His knees buckle. Kory’s there, grabbing him before he faceplants. 

“Oh, oh god - Dick,” she says, “I didn’t see you get hit,” there’s a hand in his hair, trying to comfort him. He doesn’t understand how she can care about him now, about the hole in his abdomen matching the hole where his heart used to be, when Jason’s gone. 

Much like how the skin around his wound must be shredded, so is his heart.

Jason fell.

Dick _deserves_ this pain. 

But maybe this is it. The moment when he’s finally freed. He was already ready for it, for it all to be over, when he tricked the other Titans so he could go sacrifice himself. He was so sure that Deathstroke wouldn’t be able to resist the chance to bring revenge down on them, on him. He thought Deathstroke wouldn’t be able to say no to the opportunity of killing him in the cleanest most dramatic way.

But apparently, he isn’t even worth that. Even his death isn’t a big enough price to pay for all the hurt he’s caused. 

“Dick, shh,” Kory says, and Dick didn’t even know he was speaking. What was he saying? Tears are glistering in Kory’s eyes when he looks up at her, and it makes them look so blank, like glass. He’s laying in her arms, he realizes, and he doesn’t remember how he got from sitting on his knees on the floor to laying there. He can feel the warmth of her body, so different from the cold that is spreading through his own. 

“J-Jason,” he stutters out, “he fell.” 

Kory’s eyes soften, he didn’t think she was able to look more beautiful and yet there she is. Her hand continues combing through his hair, in an almost frantic but still soft motion. The ringing in his ears has lessened, but that only means he can hear how ragged his breathing sounds as he struggles through the pain.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she says. It’s a lie, but Dick can’t make himself call her out on it. He’s dying, and he doesn’t want his last words to Kory be an argument.

“Just try to stay calm,” she continues, and Dick doesn’t know if there’s any way for him to stay calm at all. Jason’s dead. He’s failed, yet again. Just like Bruce - Oh, oh god. Bruce. How will Bruce come back from this? What will Bruce say, what will he think?

He’s dying in vain, Dick realizes. He couldn’t even finish his last quest. Couldn’t even redeem himself before dying. Couldn’t save anyone. All he wanted was to save Jason, and even that he couldn’t manage to do.

At least he won’t be there to see it when Bruce gets the news. 

At least he’ll see Jason soon, and his parents too. 

“-Ik? Dick?” Kory brings him out of his thoughts, she might have said something before, he doesn’t know. “Open your eyes again, please, please just hold on,” she begs. He forces his eyelids open, and Kory smiles watery at him. 

“I’- I’-” he tries to talk but the words get caught in his throat. It hurts too much. Everything. His heart, his mind, the bullet wound in his gut where all his blood is leaving his body. He wants it to end now. He’s sick of all this pain. 

“Shh,” Kory whispers and places a hand on his cheek, “you don’t need to talk. Just keep on breathing.”

He doesn’t know how to make her understand that he doesn’t want too. That he wants to let go now. There is no coming back from this. He can’t live with having killed Jason, someone who’s supposed to be his brother. The biggest responsibility Bruce has ever laid on his shoulders, and he’s messed it up beyond saving. 

“Oh god- Dick,” someone says. It’s not Kory, her lips don’t move, and the sound of it is too deep for it to be her. There’s another set of gentle hands touching him now, someone has sat down on the other side of him, opposite Kory. It takes so much energy, but he manages to move his eyes from where they’ve been resting at the redness of Kory’s hair to the newly arrived face.

It’s Hank. Hank, with eyes full of emotion and face full of anger. 

He can’t take this, can’t take more of Hank’s disappointment. He had hoped he could escape before any of the other Titans arrived. 

“Jason-” Kory starts, and her voice cracks, and it feels like someone’s taking a sledgehammer at Dick’s already broken heart. 

There’s more pressure at his wound, and Dick can’t help but scream. His throat feels raw when his voice gives out, and he can’t help the whimper that escapes from his lips.  
“He’s - _he’s alive_, you - Donna said it over the coms, you didn’t hear?” Hank is saying, but the words make no sense in Dick’s brain. It’s like he’s shortcutted. 

Alive?

“My com - I think Deathstroke messed up the frequency, my com stopped working once I got up here,” Kory says, voice sounding more distant, “But Jason - how?” 

_Jason_. He needs to know before he goes. He forces himself to listen, to try to calm his breaths. There’s something cold on his stomach, over his wound, and he bites so hard onto his lower lip from the pain that it splits and starts bleeding. He has to hold on long enough to hear about Jason. 

“There - some guy came swooping in, from nowhere. I thought it was Supes’ at first, but it wasn’t. Donna and Dawn are with them, they ordered me up here, and thank god they did,” Hank rambles, his voice shaky.

“You stupid idiot,” he says then, and Dick realizes Hank is talking to him, angry at him. Not that he doesn’t deserve it. _But Jason’s alive_. 

No thanks to Dick. But still, Jason’s alive. Maybe Bruce won’t be as mad. Maybe Bruce will be okay. Perhaps the Titans can forgive him, or at least not be as mad at him as they would be if he lost Robin for good. 

Dick feels his eyes slip shut. He’s so tired. The pain is lessening, his body feels colder than before, even when held in Kory’s warm embrace. 

“Oh no, you don’t!” Hank yells, and a sudden hard pressure at his bullet wound forces another scream from him, his eyes snapping open. “You don’t get to do this,” Hank raves at him, face swimming over Dick’s. It’s hard to see, his vision tunneling. 

Dick thinks he loses some time after that, maybe only a few seconds, because suddenly it feels like his stomach is forced into his throat and his head is swimming - he’s in the air.  
Is he falling? Oh god - no, no he can’t be -

His eyes open and he can’t remember having closed them, just like he hasn’t remembered closing them all the other times tonight. He’s in someone’s arms, being carried, he realizes. He’s not falling, not now, at least. Fierce red hair swims into his vision.

“Hold on, okay?” Hank says, from somewhere to the side. He can’t stop his head from lolling as Kory walks, almost runs, and it makes his vision move too fast to focus on anything. His limbs dangle uselessly too, his arm brushing against the soft fabric of Kory’s clothes. 

It’s so cold. Why didn’t he wear anything more than a t-shirt? He didn’t think death would feel this cold. 

He’s so tired. Everything hurts too much.

He wants it to stop. 

“Don’t say that,” Hank says, and Dick doesn’t even know what it is he’s said out loud and what’s only been in his thoughts. 

There’s a too loud sound. It hurts his ears and he wants to turn away from it, but there’s no energy in his body and Kory is holding onto him so hard. He knows he’s shaking, some of the pain is still there, and he’s still cold - growing colder. There’s wind hitting his face and the sound isn’t ever stopping-

“Get him into the helicopter!” 

Bruce. That’s Bruce’s voice. Oh god, no. No. He can’t face Bruce now. 

He can’t breathe. His throat feels blocked, and he panics, the broken pieces of his heart beating wildly in his chest. Now, even when he tries to force his eyes to keep being open, the darkness he so wanted before comes for him. 

There’s still so much sound, too loud for his hurting ears, but not the same as the loud mechanical noise of the helicopter. There are voices. Yelling, perhaps, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. Dick wants to sleep, he wants to escape this hell he’s fallen into while trying so hard to fix everything. He can’t take this anymore, not right now.

So he gives up, and welcomes the darkness. 

  


* * *

  


He opens his eyes only to see darkness again. But not to the same absolute dark he had seen before. There’s a small glow in the room he’s in, the light from the city outside trying to force its way past the curtains blocking the window.

The bed he’s in is soft, the blanket covering him warm. His skin itches from where he got shot and the area of skin around where there’s a needle stuck in him and connected to an IV looks red and annoyed too.

His throat feels so dry, like sandpaper. 

And, he squints, someone’s sitting in a chair by his bedside, but he can’t see who. A broad frame, a masculine one, and short hair.

Using more energy than he wants to admit, he manages to push the oxygen mask placed over his face off and tries to speak. What comes out is a pathetic scratchy sound, not sounding like any kind of word. It sends him into a coughing fit that pulls at the wound in his stomach and brings big fat tears to his eyes. 

“What? Oh, _oh_! shit, shit!” he must have awoken the person sat in the chair. And that voice. He remembers it from right before it all went dark. Hank. Hank’s here. Hank’s the person in the chair.

There’s a straw pushed at his cracked lips, into his mouth, and he sips desperately. He’s still sat hunched over from all the coughing and the cold water is a blessing for his aching throat.

“Easy there, bird brain,” Hank says, and Dick recognizes the try for humor but it’s kind of useless when Hank’s voice sounds wobbling and unsure. 

Much too soon the water is snatched from his lips, some drops escape the straw and hit the warm skin on his hand as the glass is moved away. He hears the sound of the glass hitting the tabletop of the nightstand beside his bed, a low clunk. Someone, Hank, it has to still be Hank, eases him back into place in the bed.

“Of course you wake up now,” Hank huffs, and Dick flinches at the tone of his voice, can’t help it. God, he must be on some strong pain medication. “They said it could still be days, but no, of course, you were never one to stay still for long,” Hank continues. Rambles. Its something he always used to do before, whenever he was nervous. Lash out with words, keep on talking. Dick always suspected it was to keep the darker thoughts away. They’ve always been similar in that way. 

“You okay?” Dick asks because it’s obvious Hank is struggling. Dick doesn’t even understand why the former Titan is there, by his bedside, in what has to be the middle of the night. Thankfully his voice works now, even though it’s still raspy from being unused and the coughing. 

Something dark drifts over Hank’s face. The little light they have in the room magnifies the shadows on the older man’s face, and if Dick’s body wasn’t so damn heavy he would kick himself. He keeps messing up, doesn’t he? Saying the wrong things, never managing to be the good leader he used to think he could be. 

“Am _I_ okay?” Hank says, voice dripping with something Dick can’t pinpoint. “You almost died, in Kory’s arms, after trying to fucking sacrifice yourself, and you ask if _I’m_ okay?” Hank’s voice grows in volume as he talks, words coming faster and harsher, and Dick’s worried that there’s a bomb about to drop on his head.

Instead, Hank surprises him by growing quiet again and taking in a sharp wet breath. It almost sounds like Hank is about to cry. And God no - Dick isn't prepared to handle that, he can’t handle that. He doesn’t know what to say nor how to comfort the older man. It used to be easier, before. Before there was a huge wall of pain and hurt between them. Before, when they used to be like brothers. 

“When did you get this - this death wish?” Hank says through gritted teeth, and Dick wishes he could’ve been like a normal person and slept the estimated time. He doesn’t want to talk about this, everything he felt in that building, it’s still too raw. He hasn’t had the time to think about it or figure out what to say to calm his friends down. He has no idea how to explain it, or if there even is a way to do so. 

“You didn’t use to, before, when we started. You didn’t..” Hank’s voice trails off like he can’t bring himself to say it, “You were a self-sacrificing dumbass back then too, but not… not to this extent. Not as I remember it, at least.” 

“I’m too tired to talk about this, Hank,” Dick replies because it’s the truth. And also he doesn’t want to talk about this. He never does. He wants to move on, or at the very least, get some more sleep.

“Too bad. You decided to wake up while I’m on watch, and the last thing you said to me before going under was that you wanted it all to stop,” Hank says, voice forceful as he moves closer to Dick. 

“I was almost out of it, Hank, you can’t take that seriously,” Dick argues. He sees how Hank’s face hardens for a second like he’s about to burst out in anger, throw his chair at the wall and storm out. But, for the second time since he woke up, Hank surprises him. Instead of the expected anger, Hank’s face softens again, the corner of his lips turning downwards. 

“You were prepared to die. Even before that bullet hit you, you wanted Deathstroke to kill you if it meant Jason and Rose could go free. You had _accepted_ it, Dick, for fuck’s sake!” Hank says, his voice is lower than before but still full of emotions.

Dick doesn’t answer.

“You should’ve told us, or trusted us enough to come up with a plan that didn’t evolve you killing yourself,” the older hisses. Dick drags his arms around himself. The aching in his gut is becoming more prominent. The emotions filling up his throat makes it hard to breathe and prevents him from making even a single sound.

“Jason?” Dick manages to force through his lips after a few seconds. Just the name makes his chest throb with a whole different kind of pain. 

Hank shakes his head at the obvious change of topic but still answers. 

“He’ll be okay. He’s traumatized, who wouldn’t be? But his injuries weren’t too serious, he’s sleeping now,” Hank explains, “It didn’t help that he saw you get shot though, and that you didn’t seem to care as you dove after him.“ Hank takes a deep breath before he continues his rant, "Nor did it help that he right after being saved got told you were a hairbreadth from dying. Didn’t exactly calm him down.”

God. Fuck. Dick’s so thankful, more than he’s ever been for anything else, that Jason’s alive. That he’ll be okay. Still, it hurts to hear how much distress Dick’s put on the kid. Especially when all he wanted to do was save him, and not traumatize him even more.

“Bruce showed up in the helicopter, saved your ass, I don’t know if you remember. It did wonders for the kid to see him when we got back here, even if the little asshat tried not to let it show,” Hank says while studying him.

Bruce. Shit. Dick will have to face Bruce now, explain what happened. How he’d scarred Robin, more than Batman had ever managed to. Dick would have to tell him exactly how he’d gotten the new Robin almost killed. He and Bruce, they’d just started getting better. Started working past everything that’s happened, and mending their fried relationship. And now… 

“How could you not realize you’d gotten shot? Like, I know you’re good at pushing away your pain, but an actual gunshot wound?” Hank asks, sounding a little curious on top of the anger.

“Jason _fell_,” Dick replies then, refusing to meet Hank’s eyes. 

Looking dumbfounded, Hank leans forward, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“What does that have to do with anything?” He asks incredulously, and Dick can feel how Hank is watching him, it prickles on his skin. 

“_He fell_,” Dick repeats, finally turning to meet the older man’s eyes. He can see the gears turning in Hank’s head until finally - click.

“Oh,” Hank slumps back into his chair, realization coloring his features, a hand scrubbing over his face. “Shit. _Shit_, Dick. I’m sorry. That must’ve… Sorry. I just-” Hank cuts himself off, and now it’s him that’s looks away, refusing to meet Dick’s gaze.

An uncomfortable silence falls over them. It makes Dick want to run out of the room, lock himself in somewhere and never come out. The increasing pain from his wound stops him from moving at all. He doubts he would even get in two steps before collapsing to the floor.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” Hank asks, breaking the silence and grabbing Dick’s attention again. Dick sends him a puzzled look. Even if the meds seems to be wearing off, they’re still affecting him. It’s making his brain slower and his emotions more open. He can’t read people, Hank, as easy as he usually does. He hates it. 

Being on pain medication has always lessened his ability to keep his words to himself, to keep his emotions secret. This time seems to be no exception. 

“Help what?” he asks, between two deep breaths he takes in a try to keep the pain further away.

“The guilt. Blaming yourself for every little thing that’s happened,” Hank states, looking at him in a way that Dick hates. Full of pity, like Dick is a mystery that suddenly makes too much sense. Hank isn’t talking about just recent events anymore, no, this goes even deeper.

“It’s not like I’m blameless,” Dick replies, already regretting opening his mouth but still continuing, “You’ve been pretty open yourself about how much I’ve messed up.” He can’t hide the bite in his voice, can’t help the bitterness he lets slip through. Hank had once been his big brother, and they might have fought, but it still hurts when Hank flinches back at Dick’s words.

Another point on the _“how much can Dick Grayson hurt his friends”_ scale. 

“That doesn’t mean I want to see you die!” Hank is up from his chair now, yelling, looming over Dick. 

Dick flinches at the sudden movement. It makes him jump a little in his bed and then there’s so much pain, spreading from his wound. He can barely contain the scream that wants to burst out of him. Curling up around his stomach, into a ball, he gets over on his side and god, god it hurts. 

“Shit, Dick,” Hank says, and he hears the man fumbling around, kicking something - the chair, maybe. Then there’s something cold, spreading out from his arm, from the IV that by some miracle is still in place even after all the motion. 

There’s a big calloused hand on his bare arm, squeezing softly, as Dick tries to breathe through the pain, waiting for the medication to settle in. 

“You should’ve told me you were in pain,” Hank says, voice void of any emotion. Dick stares at the wall, still feeling the pain pulsing from his wound, not able to talk again yet. He doesn’t think he’s pulled any stitches, there doesn’t seem to be any wetness spreading. There’s only the horrible thought-consuming pain filling him.

“I’m sorry,” he says through his gritted teeth. It sounds more like a sob, but he can’t bring himself to care. Everything, not just the bullet wound, - it hurts so much. 

“Don’t say that,” Hank answers, barely above a whisper, as he makes Dick turn to lay down on his back again. Dick forces himself to stretch out from the ball he’s tucked himself into as he moves. He waits for the pain to paralyze him again and finds himself thankful when he discovers the meds have already started lulling it. 

“I’m tired,” Dick states, staring up at the white roof above him. 

There’s a hand, hovering just above his own for a second. It accidentally touches parts of his hot skin, before it commits and grabs it. It’s a little awkward at first, the huge palm fitting over his smaller one, but it then settles, warm and comforting. 

The higher amount of drugs pumping into him is making him more sleepy. He’s teetering on the verge of unconsciousness. He tries to stay awake, for Hank, because he’s caused so much hurt and fixed nothing. 

“Relax, Dick, go to sleep,” Hank says like he’s reading Dick’s thoughts. He sounds as tired as Dick feels, and Dick’s eyes are already slipping shut. “Jason’s okay, we’re all as okay as can be,” Hank reassures. “I’m not mad at you, I don’t - I don’t blame you for wanting an out,” He then continues, squeezing Dick’s hand. It’s a move more intimate than anything Dick ever thought he would receive from the older man again. He tries to find the will to answer, squirming a little in his bed, hoping to find the energy to say anything, to at least open his eyes. He doesn’t. 

“Don’t feel like you have to answer that,” Hank quickly adds, “we.. we’ll talk more, tomorrow, when you feel better and you’ve slept.” 

Hank lets go of his hand, and Dick finds himself missing the warmth. A blanket is being draped over his body, up to his shoulders, and tucked around him. The only part free from the blanket cocoon is his hand, still poking out from under the blanket. It’s resting open palm up on the bed, where Hank left it.

As Dick starts drifting off properly, he hears Hank sit down. It makes the chair screech against the floor, and he hears Hank curse under his breath. It brings a small smile onto his face, the first one in a while. Some things never change it seems. 

Seconds later, he feels a big hand slip into his own again. 

He hears Hank whisper something, a soft, _“why”_, followed by something more he can’t quite catch. He’s already slipping into the kind of comfortable sleep only the real good drugs can gift him with. 

Hank’s last question will have to wait, Dick’s not even sure if he was meant to hear it anyway. He has a thousand questions himself, the paranoid detective in him itching to get all the details. Who was it that saved Jason, and what’s happened while he was unconscious? Is everyone else okay?

Right now, though, he feels whatever care he had about it slip away into nothing. Another problem for another day. For now, he can let it go, mostly thanks to the drugs. 

For the first time in a very long time, as he lets the comforting darkness consume him, he feels safe.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to contact me at letgraysonsheart.tumblr.com, and any kudos or comments make my day!


End file.
